


Lead Us Not

by vigilantejam



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Denial, carnivale was a sex party right, john irving's giant shame cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vigilantejam/pseuds/vigilantejam
Summary: For the@terror_exeprompt: breaking news: henry le vesconte is cancelled for crimes against the bible.
Relationships: Lt Henry T. D. Le Vesconte/Lt John Irving
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28
Collections: @terror_exe Flash Fest





	Lead Us Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [robokittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/gifts).



Henry might have been quite content to sit back for a while and observe the revelry at his leisure. There is a long night ahead of them, and the first one to have an end in quite some time. It wouldn't do to go off too early. But Chas never has had an ounce of patience, and the ghost of weight left by his hand on Henry's thigh gives him thought to fill in his dance card somewhat earlier in the evening than he had planned.

He watches Chas pick up his quarry, Mr Hickey falling neatly and surprisingly into step as they disappear into the shadows. He had expected a bit more resistance than that but good luck to them. Henry sniffs and mumbles to himself. _If you like that sort of thing_. Quick and dirty no doubt has its place, and it's a place Henry has visited often, but tonight is, well, an occasion. He's looking for something a bit more considered.

He casts his eye around the tent. The pretty captain's steward is nowhere to be seen, no doubt ever attendant at his master's bedside. Henry's eyes fall on Tom Hartnell, a rare sighting indeed since his move to Terror, with not so much as a visit when the mass exodus occurred. Still this wouldn't the time to fall into old habits. No, one should expand one's horizons, given the opportunity. And perhaps fall into someone a bit more becoming of an officer of Her Majesty's Navy than an AB. John Irving is alone, already noted and distinguishable by the great white wings he wear tied to his shoulders, and Henry finds his interest piqued by the reserved and curiously pious lieutenant. He rises from the bench, straightens his tabard and adjusts his crown to a rakish angle. He heads over, hoping to catch Irving before he turns around and evades the approach.

“Hello, angel,” Henry takes advantage of the chaos and clamouring to purr close into Irving's ear and catch him as he startles, the ale in his tin mug sloshing over his fingers.

“Lieutenant Le Vesconte, good evening,” Irving stammers, righting himself and quickly putting distance between them again.

“Oh come now, it's a party, John,” Henry advances. “Henry will do quite nicely.”

“Henry.”

In the soft light Henry sees the blush colour Irving's cheeks, making him look young and small. _Oh dear._

“I heard a rumour there would be no costumes for Terror officers. I'm so very glad to see that's not the case,” he runs his hand over Irving's coat, runs his eyes over the wings and the halo, and the ropes. “Don't you look pretty all trussed up.”

He closes a hand around one of the ropes and pulls, smiling at the ease with which Irving follows his lead through the crates. 

“Lieutenant. Henry. I really must insist-” Irving protests as one foot continues to fall in front of the other.

“Do you like my maze? Took us bloody ages to build all these shadowy corners and I don't intend to waste them.”

Irving is wide-eyed and tantalisingly open-mouthed as broken sounds pass his lips without forming into words. The low lamps flicker and cast deep shadows across his cheekbones and light bright stars in his eyes.

“I don't like things going to waste, you see,” Henry continues, wondering how the man's innocent beauty could have been so unremarkable in the grey dustiness of Terror's great cabin and around the dining table on Erebus. He reaches his destination and presses his back into a corner of canvas and crate as he pulls Irving towards him. “And I think you've been sadly underused. Full to the brim if what I've heard is correct. Let's see what we can't do about it.”

There is little ceremony in the swiftness with which Henry gets his hands inside Irving's divine costume. Irving yelps and spills half the drink he's still clutching but doesn't flee when Henry's hand wraps firm around his cock.

“Good grief, is this what happens to a chap going without for years? Might give a man something to consider. Worth the trade off, do you think?”

Irving doesn't respond to that except to look down with something akin to dawning horror at Henry's hand on his cock. Henry works slow, no good spooking the poor lamb now. Irving moves his foot, eases his legs apart, and gasps at himself for doing so. Doubt flashes across his face, as though he is both surprised and ashamed at the instinct, and his failure to suppress it.

“There now,” Henry soothes. “Just takes a firm hand, doesn't it, John? Don't be afraid.”

Irving groans through gritted teeth and leans forward, his head falling against Henry's shoulder, his fingers fisting in the heraldry of his costume. 

“God, can this be so new to you?”

Irving is quaking in his hands and Henry quickens the pace of his tugs on Irving's cock, his movements eased by the wet leak that springs from the head. He feels rather than hears Irving moan into his armpit, the warm damp breath spreading through layers of wool. Irving's breathing is growing rapidly ragged and Henry, finding he isn't ready to leave him entirely, eases his hand back. Irving's hips snap forward, chasing and reclaiming Henry's fingers and he can do nothing but press a kiss to the crown of soft brown hair that tickles his cheek.

“Steady now, Lieutenant,” he rumbles low as he takes Irving up again.

Henry's as stiff as a board and aching and he crowds closer, fitting himself along Irving's side, his cock pressed against Irving's hip and grinds against him.

“St- stop,” he hears Irving gasp.

“What's that?” Henry asks, pulling his hand away once more.

There's a whine and Irving's hand grasps tighter at his clothes before he moans. “Don't stop.”

Henry growls happily, but returns to Irving's cock with only the lightest of touches. He can feel the tension pooling inside himself, and with so little previous attendance Irving cannot be far from arriving either. He chuckles at the bitten back cry Irving makes as he traces his fingers light and delicate up over Irving's stomach and feels the muscles fluttering beneath.

“I'm afraid I must, darling.”

Years at sea have made some men into greedy gobbling savages, but Henry has learned the value of delayed gratification, the sweet savouring of anticipation. He rocks himself against Irving's thigh once more then hauls himself back from the precipice and steps away.

“Dundy! Have you seen that rogue? Where the hell has he got to? Lieutenant Le Vesconte!” Fitzjames' voice bellows, invisible, somewhere a slice of canvas and several box trunks over. Irving freezes like a startled deer, and then relaxes as Henry looks into his eyes, smiles kindly, and ignores the racket.

“Oh goodness, the captain is calling,” Henry says, rolling his eyes indulgently and plucking the edge of a smile from Irving. “Well into his cups by the sound of him.”

There's a spark of worry, or is it concern, in Irving's eyes. 

“Speaking of, dear John, I do have to go and run this little errand. I don't know what sort of watered down grog they're serving, but have a little of Dundy's special reserve.”

“Lieut- Henry...”

“Hush now,” Henry pours a generous tot from his flask into Irving's mug. “Have a drink. Have a couple.”

He watches the panting rise and fall of Irving's chest with the cords criss-crossed and straining. Irving's lips are full and plush and catch the light where he's licked them wet, and his eyes are shining too, with the mix of want and shame. Henry once again takes hold of a rope and rubs his thumb over the coarse twisted hairs. He runs his tongue across the front of his teeth and sighs, easing Irving back, and turning to walk away. 

“Enjoy the party, John. You should come and find me later.”

Content for now with the inroads made, he has given Irving new knowledge, and certainly an appetite for more. Henry offers the fruit with a look back over his shoulder, and leaves Irving to consider that he likes the taste, and that he will take another bite.

**Author's Note:**

> a concurrent companion piece if you will to [_you're already caught_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442531)
> 
> mad love to attheborder for running the @terror_exe flash fest, this has been a blast thank you!


End file.
